The van smelled of stale crisps and desperation. From their vantage point across the street, Molly watched the target house through a pair of high-powered binoculars. The muffled thud of a bouncy castle pump punctuated the distant, high-pitched shrieks of children. She lowered the binoculars and tapped a professionally laminated blueprint spread across her lap. It was, in fact, just a Zillow floor plan with crayon annotations. “Okay, Bill. Target is active. Ingress point Alpha is the kitchen window, obscured by the wisteria. I've disabled the motion sensor lights.” “They have a bouncy castle,” Bill whispered, his face pressed against the greasy passenger window. “It’s shaped like a dragon. Look, Mol, its nostrils are smoking. Do you think that’s a professional-grade smoke machine?” Molly massaged the bridge of her nose. “Focus. The primary target is the present pile, codenamed ‘Mount Lego.’ We need a clean extraction before the cake-cutting ceremony at fifteen-hundred hours. That’s our window. The sugar coma will hit the parental units hard.” She pointed a well-manicured finger at a red circle on the plan. “Once inside, you create the diversion. I’ve packed the remote-controlled squirrel. While they’re all distracted by ‘Squeaky Nuts’ running up the curtains, I’ll secure the assets.” Bill didn’t respond. He was now fogging up the glass with his steady, mesmerised breathing. He appeared to be trying to mentally calculate the trajectory one would need to clear the garden gnome and land in the dragon’s gaping maw. “I have a better idea,” he said, turning from the window, his eyes alight with a terrible genius. “What if we use the bouncy castle? We get a good bounce, land on the sunroom roof, and rappel down.” Molly’s silence was long and heavy. She remembered the pigeon-loft incident of ‘09, which had also involved Bill, rappelling, and a startling amount of birdseed. “We are not using the bouncy castle. We are not rappelling. We are following the plan. You distract the parents with your ‘lost puppy’ routine, I grab the goods. It’s simple. It’s clean.” “It's a shame. That dragon looks sturdy,” Bill sighed, slumping back in his seat. “Do you think they'll have party bags? I'm hoping for some of those little fizzy sweets and a yo-yo.” “Bill, the only bag you're getting is the swag bag,” Molly said, snapping the blueprint shut. She pulled the ski mask over her face, the cheap wool already making her itch. Bill was still staring wistfully at the bouncy dragon, a small trickle of drool escaping the corner of his mouth. It was going to be a long afternoon.